


Traffic Buddies!!

by bottledyarn



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Adult Stiles Stilinski, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, F/M, Fluff, Kind of AU, M/M, Non-Pack Derek, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 08:13:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11619531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bottledyarn/pseuds/bottledyarn
Summary: There are chickens all over the highway and Stiles' car is trapped next to one occupied by an unfairly attractive man with a bad attitude and great eyebrows





	Traffic Buddies!!

_Traffic on the 109 today is at a complete standstill...a tractor trailer carrying approximately a thousand chickens jackknifed and was hit by several cars, releasing the chickens and causing a fuel tanker to spill. The driver of the tractor trailer was critically injured in the accident, as witnesses report he was running across the highway trying to catch some of the animals when the fuel tanker hit the driver when he swerved to avoid the crashed tractor trailer...the fuel tanker appears to have hit a utility pole as well, which caused the oil spill. As crews, alongside animal control officers, try to wrangle to chickens and prevent the spilled oil from catching fire, miles of highway are bumper-to-bumper, and have been for forty minutes so far. The backup stretches from exit 28 to exit 34 where the crash occurred, just outside Beacon Hills. It seems unlikely that the highway will be cleared for at least another few hours, and police crews are working on diverting traffic off the highway at exit 27 so that they can begin the process of directing the stopped cars backwards and off at exit 28. Those near the scene can expect to be stuck there for the longest amount of time, and are told to remain inside their vehicles unless they are directed to do otherwise by a police officer. A medical evacuation helicopter is currently attempting to land on the highway to bring the truck driver to the hospital, and it seems...it seems that all of the clean-up crews are abandoning their efforts to make room for the helicopter and EMS crews....We’ll keep you updated on this...frankly bizarre traffic incident...right here, on FIRE 93.9 Techno Rob and the Way-Back Zingers, B.O.W. W.C.A.S. Watertown, Portfield, Rockland._

“FUCK.”

The soccer mom fanning herself anxiously with a playbill, windows rolled down in her shiny red minivan turned so quickly Stiles half-expected her neck to snap. She glared at him, continuing to fan herself with somehow sinister wrist motions, as she rolled up the passenger side window of her van, sealing his profanity out of her family-friendly tank. What kind of person buys a cherry-red minivan, anyway? 

Stiles thumped his head back against his seat and turned off the car. It didn’t have AC anyway, and that news bulletin was about all he could bear to know about the situation. It was pretty clear that there was no way in hell he was going to make it to the rehearsal lunch. Unless he walked. 

He could _totally_ walk, he thought, frantically unbuckling his seatbelt. The cops would let him go for a wedding rehearsal. He’d just have to pay the bill for towing the car. His tuxedo was hanging by the passenger window, and he grabbed the bag before throwing himself out of the car. Who knew when he’d get the car out of the impound. 

Stiles chanced a peek over at the soccer mom. She was staring at him with dead eyes, and he gave her a little wave. He could hear the screeching of her children from her backseat now that he was out of the Jeep, and he suddenly empathized with the woman. Stiles ducked around the front of his car, barely a few inches of space between him and the obnoxiously blue Tesla in front of him. He’d just cleared the overpriced SUV when a hand grabbed his arm. 

He shot a look in the direction of whoever was manhandling him, and was met with the all-too-recognizable, cold, empty blue eyes of Officer Damien Tate. Of fucking course. 

“He-ey, there, Damien,” Stiles said uneasily, shuffling back towards the Jeep. “I was just, you know, getting some fresh air, making sure all my traffic buddies were doin’ OK.”

“Stiles,” he said. “Get back in your stupid fucking Jeep or I’ll arrest you.”

“Damien! _Damien_ , come on, you remember Scott? The one with the crooked face? He’s getting married tomorrow! I’m the best man, I was supposed to be at the rehearsal lunch twenty minutes ago!”

The ghost of a smile passed over Damien’s face. 

“You do remember!” Stiles exclaimed. “Scott’s the best, huh? I’ll just be going, then!”

Damien grabbed his arm again, the small smile spreading into a completely and utterly horrifying grin. 

“I’m afraid I can’t bend the rules,” Damien said. “Wedding or no wedding, you’re staying in that car.” 

Stiles ripped a hole in the plastic covering his tux and blew out a slow, calculated breath. 

“Damien, you know how sorry I am about what happened,” he said. “There was a lot going on that I couldn’t tell you about.”

Damien crossed his arms, raising his eyebrows. “Oh, really? Why don’t you tell me what you were doing trespassing on government property to hook up with another guy? Why I had to arrest you in front of my new partner?” 

Stiles cringed. It really sounded terrible when you put it like that. 

“Well, see, I still can’t tell you,” Stiles said. Damien scowled. “But -- but! I promise it’s a really, really good explanation and I’m very, very sorry.”

“Get in your fucking car before I shove you under it,” Damien snarled. “If I see you get out again, I will personally handcuff you to the toilet in the cell you’ll be sleeping in tonight.”

Stiles scrambled away, shooting a glance over his shoulder before stuffing himself back inside of the torture oven that was his car. Damien stood there in the road, arms still crossed -- and _damn_ , his arms were still so _nice_ \-- until Stiles finished cranking down his windows and was fully pouting. Damien swiveled on his heel and disappeared back up towards the accident. Stiles looked over at the minivan. The soccer mom was grinning maniacally at him. 

“Fucking fuck fuck,” Stiles said, whacking his steering wheel. He heard a quiet chuff of laughter, and turned quickly to the right to sneer at whoever was finding his situation so goddamn funny. A witty retort was on the tip of his tongue, but it promptly fell off his tongue and went straight to hell when he saw the devastatingly attractive man sitting in the shiny black car beside him. 

The guy was pretending to not notice Stiles, just smirking off into the distance, fingers tapping lightly on his steering wheel. 

“H-hey!” Stiles exclaimed, sprawling across his front seats, head hanging out the passenger side. “Don’t laugh at me!”

The guy looked taken aback for a split second, but by the time his head had made the 90 degree turn to stare at Stiles, his face was blank. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. 

“Okay, then, why do you have that window down if you didn’t roll it down to eavesdrop on my plight?” Stiles asked. “I know you had it up earlier because I noticed your stupid blacked out windows.” 

The guy rolled his eyes. His perfect, hazel eyes with obscene eyelashes. 

“I was listening. You’re an idiot.”

“Okay, hang on a minute!” Stiles exclaimed, slithering into the passenger seat entirely, dangling his arms out the window. He could almost reach over and touch the guy’s car. “It all has a perfectly reasonable explanation.” 

The guy shook his head. Stiles felt like fate had planted this guy next to him specifically because he looked like he’d just walked out of a porno written, directed, and casted just for Stiles. He was put here to torture Stiles.

“Well,” Stiles said. “Here’s the whole story.” 

The guy’s stupid tinted window started rolling up, the deadpan not leaving his face.

“Hey, no!” Stiles exclaimed. The window stopped halfway up. “You’ve gotta let me explain. We’re gonna be traffic buddies for hours, I can’t sit here knowing that you think I’m a cheating lying asshole.”

The window didn’t roll back down, but it didn’t continue up, either. Stiles could only see the dude’s eyes.

“So I was dating him, obviously – you caught that part, I’m assuming. He’s a total asshole. Exactly my type,” Stiles starts. “We met at a California-wide police banquet thing. My dad’s a sheriff, so he brought me, and I got introduced to all the troopers and I was like _hello, there_ to this one because most of them are pretty old and creepy but this one was young and only a little creepy.”

The guy made his little huff of amusement again. Stiles narrowed his eyes. Who was he to judge, driving around in a car that was obviously overcompensating for something, eavesdropping, and – hello – a proud owner of custom black-out windows.

“Those windows are illegal, by the way,” Stiles said. The guy squinted at him like he was an idiot. “Anyway, we hit it off at the banquet, as you do, and I’d just gotten dumped by this girl who was literally the most evil woman imaginable—“

“Unlikely,” the guy interrupted.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Stiles bit out. “I was just looking to let off some steam, you know, but Damien asked for my number the next morning and I’m not a complete asshole so I thought I’d give him a chance, you know, why not try another asshole, might be different this time. Personality asshole, I mean, not, you know, the body part.”

The guy closed his eyes and shook his head slightly. _Yeah_ , Stiles thought, _same_.

“So we start dating, and he’s pretty OK at first but is kind of a jealous dick and was also way not cool about me being bi and always implying that it meant I was going to cheat on him—“

“Which you did,” the guy said.

“No, no, you’re jumping ahead of the story,” Stiles said. “So one day I’m doing my job and it happens to involve being on some quote-on-quote government property, and my partner in crime – or, well, not in _crime_ necessarily, or, actually, I guess this particular time, yes, in crime – is with me, and we see police lights coming down the road and we figure, hey, the best way to make the cops think that we’re just harmless accidental trespassers is to pretend like we’re there to hook up and just mistakenly picked a secret government facility as our spot.”

The guy rolled his eyes again. He seemed to do that a lot.

“There’s no way,” he said.

“What!” Stiles exclaimed. “Yes, way.”

“There’s no way _you_ have a job that involves secret government facilities,” he continued, rolling down the window so Stiles could see the doubtful purse to his lips. “And there’s no way that you _happened_ to be pretending to hook up with someone when your boyfriend caught you.”

“Okay, well, believe what you want to, dickhead, but it’s the truth!” Stiles said. “So I’m, you know, pinned to a tree, making it believable, when the cops stop and shine their lights on us, and the first thing I hear is Damien shouting my name.”

“Hold on.” Eyebrows said emphatically. “Why does being pinned to a tree make it more believable?”

Stiles shrugged. “I like being pinned to things. So, it’s understandably embarrassing for Damien, he had every right to be upset, especially since he’d just gotten assigned a new partner, and he’d just a week before brought me to a trooper event to introduce me to his colleagues, and now him and his new partner – who knows full well who I am – catch me apparently cheating.”

“You’re an _idiot_.”

“True, but Damien totally didn’t even give me a chance to explain myself,” Stiles said. “He arrested me for trespassing – rude – and didn’t believe me at all when I told him.”

“I’m on his side,” said Eyebrows, drumming his fingers on his steering wheel. “What kind of job requires that nonsense?”

“It’s a _secret_ ,” Stiles hissed. “Hence why I couldn’t tell him.”

The guy put on a pair of aviators, as if he needed that accessory on top of his whole look.

“Only an idiot would believe you,” he said dryly. “You need to date an idiot next time, instead of an asshole.”

“I don’t cheat on people!” Stiles exclaimed.

“So you didn’t enjoy your little pretend hook-up session?” he asked, cocking his head to the side. “You know, pinned up against a tree the way you liked it? Was your partner not enough of an asshole.”

“Cool it, Maury,” Stiles said. “And of course I enjoyed it, I’m a hot-blooded human being, and I just so happen to work with a lot of unfairly attractive people.”

The guy nodded smugly.

“But I would never have done it outside of this one very specific situation!” Stiles said. “Plus, the dude was straight.”

He lowered his sunglasses at this.

“What?” Stiles asked.

“The guy suggested you make out to throw off the cops, and decides all on his own to shove you up against a tree, rather than just doing the bare minimum?” he asked. “Couldn’t you have just _hid_?”

Stiles’ eyes flicked upwards. Well, now that he thought about it…

“Okay, fine,” Stiles said. “Maybe he’s a little bit not straight, huh. But I didn’t know that at the time, so I wouldn’t have pursued anything.”

The tinted window started rolling back up again.

“Hey!” Stiles exclaimed.

“Are you not done?” the guy said. “Seems like you’re done.”

“Well, yeah, I guess I’m done, but those chickens aren’t gonna clean up the oil themselves, we’re gonna be here a while!” Stiles said. The window stopped. “We’re all in this together.”

“If you start singing, I swear to God—“

“You know High School Musical!” Stiles cried happily. “And here I thought you were a soulless time traveler sent here to destroy my good spirits.”

“Stop.”

Stiles leaned on his arms propped in the window, grinning happily at his traffic buddy.

“Stop smiling at me, too,” Eyebrows snarled. “And what the _fuck_ are you talking about, chickens?”

Stiles gasped excitedly, sitting up straighter.

“You didn’t hear the news bulletin?” he asked. The guy shook his head. “A chicken truck spilled and an oil truck spilled. Chickens roaming the streets, oil everywhere.”

“And you said it was going to take _how_ long to fix?” he asked.

“They said at least a few hours,” Stiles said. “Especially for the people at the front. Which is us.”

Eyebrows reached for something across his car, and started pressing numbers in his phone.

“Can I borrow that?” Stiles asked. “Mine’s dead, I really need to call my friend!”

The window went the rest of the way up, and Stiles stretched across the gap between their cars, trying to smudge his fingers on the glass.

The window stayed put, and Stiles flopped back into his seat, propping his feet up on the dash. Might as well try to take a nap.

***

There was something in his lap. It was warm, and when Stiles groggily put a hand in the general vicinity, he noticed it was silky soft, too.

“Yarmouth?” he asked sleepily, thinking it might be his dad’s cat, stroking its back.

He started waking up more, and abruptly realized that what was under his hand was feathers, not fur. Stiles yelped, startling all the way awake, staring down at the chicken in his lap. The oily, distraught chicken.

“What are you _doing_ in here?” Stiles cried, picking up the chicken with both hands and staring it in the eyes. “You’re lost!”

It stared at him, its little feet dangling in the air. Stiles thought it was kinda cute.

It flapped its wings suddenly, and Stiles shrieked, letting go of the bird and covering his face. It couldn’t seem to figure out that the window it’d come through was also the way out, and it ricocheted around the car, leaving feathers and scratch marks in its wake.

“Jesus,” a voice said.

“Help me!” Stiles exclaimed, starting to open his door. He caught sight of Damien, a couple cars up talking to some guy in a pickup truck, and quickly shut it again. “There’s a chicken in my car!”

“I see that,” Eyebrows said, eyes tracking the chicken around Stiles’ car. “Better get it out of there.”

“I can’t get out of the car!” Stiles said. “Damien said he’d arrest me!”

Eyebrows blinked slowly.

“Help me!” Stiles insisted, shrinking into the corner.

“I don’t know what you want me to do,” he said, shrugging. “It’s just living its life.”

“Oh, my god!” Stiles exclaimed. “You heartless – Ow!”

The stupid bird had thrown itself by his head, leaving a burning scratch across his face in the process. It felt like it’d torn his damn eye out.

Stiles clapped a hand to it, feeling the hot wet feeling of profuse blood under his palm. He turned toward Eyebrows, mouth gaping open, as blood poured out from between his fingers.

Eyebrows’ amusement quickly slid off his face, replaced by shock. By the time he was opening his car door, the expression was replaced with disbelief and maybe a little frustration.

“Move over,” Eyebrows said, shooting a glance up towards where Damien was standing. He yanked open Stiles’ door, and Stiles slid away from him, using both hands to hold in the  
blood.

Eyebrows leaned his body over Stiles – good, quality content, Stiles thought – and grabbed the chicken. He threw it down the highway, just barely missing the Tesla.

Stiles sighed in relief, a feeling which quickly evaporated when Eyebrows crammed the rest of his body – his very muscular body – into the passenger seat, leaving Stiles awkwardly positioned half on the driver’s seat and half in between the two seats. Eyebrows shut the door behind him, shaking his head as he grabbed Stiles’.

“Move your hands,” he said. “Let me see.”

Stiles dropped his hands, bringing with them a generous amount of blood.

Eyebrows reached for something at his feet, producing a large first aid kit. Stiles hadn’t even noticed him bringing it over from the other car. He’d probably been too busy with the blood and the chicken.

“You might need stitches,” Eyebrows said, pressing a slab of gauze to Stiles’ face. “Does your eye hurt?”

Stiles blinked. The bloodloss and the whole there’s-a-male-model-in-my-car thing were getting to him. He realized that Eyebrows was waiting for him to say something.

“What? Oh, no, I think my eye is okay?” Stiles said, blinking rapidly. “Yeah, it’s fine.”

Eyebrows pressed his lips together and tilted Stiles’ head from side to side, staring at him the whole while.

“Am I gonna live, doc?” Stiles asked.

“Maybe,” Eyebrows deadpanned. “But I might accidentally sever an artery, who knows?”

Stiles laughed, stopping immediately when Eyebrows’ serious expression stayed the same.

“You know, it’s hard to tell if you’re kidding.”

“Yeah, it is,” Eyebrows said. “I’m going to give you some stitches.”

“What?” Stiles squawked, leaning backwards. “You sure as hell are not giving me stitches.”

Eyebrows shot a look upwards, as if he was cursing God for putting him on this planet.

“I’m a nurse, chill your shit.”

“You’re a nurse?” Stiles asked. “And you couldn’t believe that I’m an em- involved in a secret job?”

Eyebrows’ upper lip curled.

“You must have great bedside manner,” Stiles said. “You have such a radiant smile.”

“Just keep your face still, they won’t hurt that much,” he said, pulling a suspiciously painful looking tool out of his first aid kit. He snapped a pair of gloves over his hands. Stiles winced.

***

The stitches sure as hell fucking _did_ hurt that much. By the time they were done, Stiles had used up every curse he could think of, and had resorted to screaming with his mouth closed. He hoped that the soccer mom had heard it.

“You’re fine,” Eyebrows said. “Shut up. Take an Advil.”

Stiles gritted his teeth. Eyebrows was using what seemed to be liquid fire on a piece of sandpaper to wipe the blood off of Stiles’ face.

“You’ll probably have to go on a course of antibiotics,” Eyebrows said, carefully dabbing at the end of the cut, just above Stiles’ eyebrow. “I doubt that chicken had clean feet.”

“I doubt _you_ have clean feet,” Stiles muttered.

Eyebrows pulled back, giving Stiles a look.

“Okay, sorry, continue,” Stiles said, sticking his face out.

Eyebrows gently wiped at the stitch closest to Stiles’ eye, his eyes focused and dark.

“It’s lucky you shut your eyes tightly,” Eyebrows murmured. “You probably would’ve lost an eye.”

Stiles’ throat constricted at the thought.

“And god knows you wouldn’t be able to live like that,” Eyebrows said. “You’re already barely managing as it is.”

Stiles choked back a laugh, trying not to move his face.

“You’d probably make pirate jokes, too,” Eyebrows continued, pouring more of whatever disinfectant hell liquid he was using to clean the wound. “Wear an eyepatch all the time.”

“That’s actually very accurate,” Stiles admitted.

Eyebrows leaned back, his eyes raking over Stiles’ face.

“Admiring your handiwork?” Stiles asked, leaning his head from side to side. “Think I can still make it in the modelling world, Tyra?”

Eyebrows rolled his eyes and started packing up the first aid kit.

“You’ll probably have a scar,” he said. “But if you take care of it in the next few weeks, it’ll probably fade eventually. Make sure you have a doctor look at it, prescribe you antibiotics.”

“Can’t you do that?”

“I don’t want to,” Eyebrows said. “It’d be a pain in the ass right now. You should go to the doctor anyway, you probably caught gonorrhea during all of your cheating escapades.”

Stiles made an indignant noise. “You know I didn’t-“

Eyebrows glanced up at him, a smirk spread across his face.

“You’re joking, aren’t you?” Stiles sighed. “Very funny. Quite the comedian.”

Eyebrows latched the first aid kit shut. There were bloody pieces of gauze all over the floor of the car, along with various other pieces of debris. He reached for the car door, popping it open and starting to climb out.

“Hey, wait,” Stiles said. “Thank you.”

Eyebrows frowned at him for a long moment before turning and climbing back into his car.

Stiles stared over at him through the window. Cars started beeping, and Stiles glanced up to realize that the cars had started to move in front of him. Eyebrows started to roll up his window, and Stiles buckled his seatbelt, watching to catch a final glimpse of the guy.

The shiny black car, Eyebrows and all, slid away, and Stiles turned his car on, rolling slowly into the flow of traffic. He watched Eyebrows’ car roll to a stop again as people started piling into the exit lane, and Stiles’ eyes widened. He accelerated, screeching to a stop next to the black car, honking aggressively.

The window rolled down, and Eyebrows glared at him expectantly.

“I don’t even know your name!” Stiles exclaimed.

The cars started moving again, and Eyebrows glanced forward.

“It’s Derek,” he said, and his car sped forward, disappearing off the exit.

*** 

Stiles pulled into Scott’s driveway at eight pm, a full three hours after the rehearsal was set to end. He shut off the Jeep, and before he could get out of the car, Scott came running out of his house.

“Where were you, dude?” Scott exclaimed. “I thought you were dead!”

“Come on,” Stiles said, opening his door. “You knew I wasn’t dead, you told me you can sense me with your tingly wolfy senses.”

Allison came slowly out of the house, stuffing her hands in her pockets as she wandered over to the driveway.

“Were you in that traffic jam, Stiles?” she asked.

“Yeah, actually,” Stiles said, stepping in front of his Jeep.

Allison pressed a hand to her mouth.

“What?” Stiles asked.

“What happened to your face?” Scott asked, gaping in horror.

“Oh,” Stiles said, pressing a hand to the cut. “A chicken.”

Allison tilted her head downward, trying not to let Stiles see her laugh. He saw anyway.

“Yeah, it was a pretty gnarly traffic situation, but a super hot nurse stitched me up,” Stiles said. “I’m sorry I missed the rehearsal, Scott.”

He shrugged. “It’s okay, it was kind of just an excuse to have fancy lunch. You’ll figure it all out.”

Stiles smiled fondly, pulling Scott in for a hug.

“I’m still sorry, bro,” he said. “I would’ve called but my phone was dead.”

Scott shrugged again. “Just don’t miss the wedding tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Allison said sarcastically. “I’ve always wanted someone who looked like Scarface in my wedding photos.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Stiles said, shooting finger guns at her. “See you guys tomorrow.”  
“Please try to heal that cut by tomorrow, Stiles,” Allison pleaded. “I know you’ll probably forget until it’s too late, but at least try to remember.” 

“See ya,” Scott said.

The two stood in their driveway arm in arm as Stiles pulled out, feeling strangely like he was their first-born son headed off to college. 

***

The wedding was lovely. Stiles only messed up a few things, and he only mildly terrified the flower girl with his scar. But everyone knows that the ceremony is the lame part, and the only thing anyone really cares about is the reception.

They’d decided to have the reception in the Argent backyard, which they’d filled with a massive white party tent decked to the nines with wedding paraphernalia. And really great chairs.

Stiles was currently sprawled in one of the super comfy chairs, feet propped on another one of the super comfy chairs, watching people start to mill about and head to the dance floor. He yanked his tie off his neck, tossing it to the table. All the other groomsmen from his table had already headed to the dance floor, but Stiles was just watching for now, icing his face to numbness so he could properly enjoy the rest of the party. He was still cursing himself for forgetting to heal the stupid gash in his head before arriving to the ceremony. Once the bridesmaids, who were for the most part perfectly unaware of the whole supernatural bend to the wedding, saw it, he had to keep it. 

“Oh, hey,” he heard Scott say. “I’m glad you could make it.”

“It’s my pleasure,” a warm voice replied. “Sorry I didn’t make it to the ceremony.”

“That’s okay, ceremonies suck anyway,” Scott said. “This is gonna be great, though, you can meet the whole pack, get to know us.”

_Oh_ , Stiles thought. It was the new guy. He would turn and head over to them in the entrance way, but he was awfully comfy where he was.

“That’s our emissary over there, Stiles,” Scott said. _Damnit_ , Stiles thought. “I’ll introduce you!”

Stiles dropped the bag of ice he was holding and eased to his feet, turning around as the two walked up. His mouth immediately dropped open.

“ _Eyebrows_?” Stiles asked incredulously. “I – I mean, Derek?”

Derek, who’d been wearing a bright smile at first, now appeared to be just as disbelieving as Stiles, and said nothing, just standing there mutely, his face blank.

“You know each other?” Scott asked excitedly.

“No,” Derek said immediately.

“Yeah, we do!” Stiles said. “Derek’s the one that stitched my face yesterday.”

“Oh!” Scott said. “The hot nurse!”

Stiles felt his face turn red.

“Shut up, Scott,” Stiles said, whipping his head over to glare at his best friend.

“So you’re Cora’s older brother?” Stiles asked, turning back towards Derek, still not believing it. Derek’s cheeks looked a little flushed. “The one she said is ‘really great’ and ‘super caring’? Returning-from-New-York-after-a-decade Derek Hale?”

Derek nodded slowly.

“The one and only.”

“And you’re a _nurse_?”

Derek gritted his teeth.

“I’m gonna leave you two to it,” Scott said, vanishing onto the dance floor.

Stiles put his hands on his hips, looking Derek up and down. He looked great in a three-piece suit, Stiles thought.

“Thanks,” Derek said dryly.

“Did I say that out loud?” Stiles said.

“A little bit.”

“I-”

A cloud of white chiffon appeared between them.

“Derek,” Allison said sweetly. “I’m so glad you could make it, and that you’re thinking of joining our pack.”

“Thank you for having me,” Derek said, that megawatt smile coming out again.

“I’m so happy you’re willing to work with me and my family,” Allison said. “After what happened…I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t believe that we’ve changed.”

“I trust Cora’s opinion,” Derek said.

Allison beamed, turning towards Stiles.

“Stiles, why don’t you give Derek a tour of the house?”

“Ah-”

Allison backpedaled away, giving Stiles encouraging nods as she joined Scott on the dance floor. 

“Cora’s not here,” Stiles said. 

“Yeah, I know,” Derek said. 

Stiles nodded. So much for small talk. 

“Well, have fun,” Stiles said, collapsing back down into his chair. 

“Aren’t you giving me a tour?” Derek drawled. 

“What, don’t want to join in on the festivities?” Stiles asked. 

“No,” Derek said blandly. 

Stiles grimaced and hauled himself back out of the chair. 

“Fine,” he said. “You’re about to have the best damn tour of your life.”

He could’ve sworn Derek smiled at that, but he didn’t want to give him the dignity of a glance to check. 

***

Stiles stormed across the dew-wet grass, nothing but silence behind him. He didn’t bother looking over his shoulder, all those stupid werewolves were good at walking quietly. 

“Welcome to the Argent house,” Stiles said, gesturing grandly as he opened the back door. “Come right on inside, terrors abound await. Lots of torture devices. And marble countertops.” 

Derek stepped in past him, his side brushing against Stiles’ shoulder. He paused in the dark hallway as Stiles followed him in, shutting the door behind them. 

“There’s gotta be a light switch here somewhere,” Stiles said. “Not that you need it, you big bad night vision wolf.” 

Stiles slid his hand along the wall for the switch. 

“Feel free to help me look for it,” Stiles said. 

Derek turned, his face mostly shadow in the dark hall, only the dark of his eyes distinguishable in his face. 

“Okay, yeah, I’m an asshole,” Stiles said. “I should be nicer to strangers, blah, blah, it’s like when the Beast meets the old lady enchantress, I shoulda been nice before I knew you were our new potential pack member, yadda yadda.”

“You’re still not being nice now,” Derek said. “The Beast was nice to the enchantress once he knew it was her.”

“Yeah, fat lot of good it did him!” Stiles said, squeezing past Derek to look for the lights. “I already have enough fur and fangs in my life, I don’t need any for myself. You can hate me all you want, I’m pretty sure I’m the magic one here.” 

“Why didn’t you use your magic on that chicken?” Derek said. Stiles was sure he was smirking in the dark. 

“It’s not exactly subtle to vanish a chicken from your car in the middle of a traffic jam,” Stiles said. “Or to magically heal a big old cut on your face.” 

“And you still have the cut because…”

“Fond memories of you,” Stiles said sweetly. “Where the fuck is the light switch?” 

Hands suddenly shoved his shoulders, pushing him against the wall. 

“Uh,” Stiles said. “I’m actually not the light switch, believe it or not.” 

“I know,” Derek said, his voice low. “Stiles, I was pretty mad that I didn’t get your name yesterday.” 

“You have it now,” Stiles said, shifting awkwardly. Derek’s hands were pressed tightly against his upper arms, holding him against the wall. “Aren’t you lucky?” 

“Yeah,” Derek said. “You’re exactly my type. Idiot asshole.” 

“That’s...fortunate,” Stiles said. His mouth was dry, and his breath was coming out rapidly. “We have the same taste.” 

Derek huffed a laugh, and Stiles finally remembered that he could have night vision too. He thought the spell to himself, and he felt a little tug as the world was suddenly visible around him. Derek’s face was a lot closer to his than he’d expected, and he inhaled sharply. Derek’s eyes were flicking from Stiles’ eyes to his lips and back again, and Stiles couldn’t help but do the same. 

“Are you ever gonna kiss me?” Stiles asked, grabbing Derek’s lapels. “You’ve already got me against a wall and every -- mmpf!” 

Stiles’ hands slid to Derek’s sides, pulling him closer as they kissed, the taste of mint gum and champagne mixing. 

The light flicked on overhead, blindingly bright with the nightvision spell still active. Stiles covered his eyes, pushing Derek away. 

Scott stood in the doorway, hand still hovering next to the light switch -- right beside the damn door. 

“Thought you were giving a tour,” Scott said, grinning stupidly. 

“Thought you were hosting a wedding,” Stiles said. 

“Does this mean you are joining the pack or you aren’t?” Scott asked, squinting at Derek. 

Stiles watched out of the corner of his eye. Derek nodded. 

“Yeah, I’m joining,” he said. 

“Great!” Scott exclaimed, turning back around. “Have fun!” 

Stiles stared at his back as he left. He hadn’t even needed anything in the house, the nosy bastard. 

“You’re joining for me?” Stiles asked. “That’s awful sweet of you --” 

“I’m not joining for you,” Derek said, giving Stiles a half-hearted shove. “In fact, I might still need some convincing.” 

Stiles’ eyes darkened as he stepped towards Derek. “...Convincing, huh?”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr @sgtjmsbrns where I'm just as garbage as you'd expect ;)


End file.
